


Throwdown

by misura



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>About five minutes into the fight, Drake decided that Hannibal King was a cowardly, gutless son of a she-dog who deserved to be tied spread-eagled over a nest of ants and have honey dripped down his -</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Well, all right, maybe Drake wouldn't actually go quite that far.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throwdown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/gifts).



> prompt: _Drake/Hannibal, spar_

About five minutes into the fight, Drake decided that Hannibal King was a cowardly, gutless son of a she-dog who deserved to be tied spread-eagled over a nest of ants and have honey dripped down his -

Well, all right, maybe Drake wouldn't actually go quite that far.

"Been a while, huh?"

The tying-up-spread-eagled thing sounded good, though, even if Drake might decide on a slightly more comfortable place to do it. Say, a bed.

Hannibal was grinning, looking like was enjoying himself immensely. Logic said he had to be sweating, too, but these new dull _human_ senses of Drake's seemed unable to pick up the smell from this distance. He supposed he'd have to close in again.

"We're practicing," he said, instead. He'd ruled a nation; he knew how to make people do what he wanted them to do without crushing them under his heels first. "You're supposed to help moomph."

"Pretty fucking sure I missed your kidneys," Hannibal said cheerfully. "You're welcome."

Until he'd crawled out of his grave to discover what the Daystar virus had done to him, Drake hadn't really spent much time worrying about the state of his kidneys. After all, whatever damage anyone managed to deal to his body would heal, sooner or later. Usually sooner.

"Look," he said, "can we - "

Apparently not.

"Your guard needs a whole fucking lot of work," Hannibal said.

Drake managed not to snarl. (It just wasn't the same without the lengthened canines to back it up, anyway.) He felt bruises, slowly forming under his skin, where once the pain would simply have faded after a mere handful of seconds. "Maybe you could - "

"Nope," Hannibal said, but this time he moved _after_ he spoke, so Drake was ready for him.

For all the good _that_ did him.

It wasn't that Hannibal was stronger, or heavier. Drake knew he was weaker than he had been, but he also knew that Hannibal depended on speed and agility, much moreso than brute strength. Drake thought it suited him. Hannibal moved as gracefully as a dancer.

A very violent, vicious dancer who seemed determined to get Drake to lose his temper.

Still, when he wasn't busy getting punched or trying to breathe normally, Drake was able to admire the way Hannibal moved, his wiry frame, the play of muscles under the slightly damp skin of his chest, his arms -

That smile was beginning to get very annoying, though. Knowing that that was the point, that Hannibal was deliberately baiting him, taunting him, _daring_ him didn't help.

Besides, Drake was a warrior. He didn't back down when someone challenged him.

"You could try a bit harder, maybe?" Hannibal said. "I mean, it feels like I'm the one doing all the fucking work around here. Reminds me of last night."

Missing canines or not, Drake snarled. Hannibal laughed out loud and kicked him in the shoulder.

"Fucking give up already."

Drake tried to stay reasonable. Well, no, not reasonable. Logical. Practical. Hannibal was faster, and unlike Drake, he was entirely at home in his body. He knew what it could do, how to use it to his advantage. How to use it to drive Drake absolutely fucking insane, too, but that was another distraction Drake had no use for right now. He wanted to win this.

He wanted to just pin Hannibal to the mat and make him beg.

Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed more interested in making sure Drake would spend tonight nursing his wounds and trying to find the one way to lie down that hurt less than the others.

 _Distance,_ Drake thought. Hannibal was very good at staying out of reach, only darting in for a quick punch before backing away again. In theory, Drake ought to have been able to use that to trap him, force him to retreat into a corner.

In practice, that hadn't been happening. Human bodies tired so very quickly and healed so very slowly, and Hannibal clearly didn't intend to give Drake enough time to try and think up something clever.

Still, there were always the tired old tricks few people had ever fallen for, even in Drake's days.

As Hannibal aimed another punch at his stomach, Drake pretended to go down. He even managed a small grunt, mostly by simply not holding it back this time around.

Hannibal didn't immediately try to press his advantage. Perhaps he thought it dishonorable to kick an opponent who was already down, or perhaps he suspected a trick.

Drake continued to let his body do what it wanted to do. With any other partner, it would have embarrassed him to put on such a display of weakness; with Hannibal, it was no longer about saving face or showing honor. It was about coming out on top.

"Fuck," Hannibal said. "Drake?"

His pretense didn't allow Drake to look up, but he could picture the expression on Hannibal's face right now. Concern mixed with suspicion and a touch of fear. The same emotions Drake had seen that first night when Hannibal had introduced him to this century's idea of beer, and Drake had ended up kissing him, because he'd been wanting to for some time, and he figured he might as well.

Hannibal took one step in his direction. Another. A third.

Drake moved, as fast as his body was able to, aiming for Hannibal's legs. They both dropped to the mat, but Drake had a bit of an edge now; he'd been expecting the fall, and he was heavier. As long as he didn't let Hannibal get back on his feet again, he should be able to gain the upper hand.

"I was actually worried, you fuck," Hannibal said. His body felt delicious under Drake's, strong and hard and warm. Once, Drake would have been unable to resist biting him.

Now - well, the temptation was still there, certainly. It simply wouldn't result in Drake needing to worry about turning Hannibal or (worse) killing him by being too greedy or losing control.

Hannibal shivered as Drake's lips ghosted down his throat, down his chest. Down his stomach, when Drake decided their 'practice' was well and truly over, and that he no longer needed to be wary of Hannibal trying to flip the tables on him again.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw something move near the door, but by the time he had turned his head, there was nobody there. Just his imagination then, most likely - human senses were strange.

Human _bodies_ did have their charms, however.

 

"Those two are practicing hard, I see," Blade said, face utterly blank.

Abby would like to think she could tell by now when he was making a conscious effort to appear impassive and when he was simply being Blade. A little bit of both going on right now, she judged.

Not surprised at Hannibal screwing around during practice, probably, but slightly surprised at his choice of partner, perhaps. Personally, she'd figured it had only been a matter of time. In spite of those five years he never talked about anymore (or maybe because of them), Hannibal still seemed to crave a certain amount of ... affection. Intimacy. Closeness.

"That asshole hurts him, we'll flip a coin about who gets to kill him first."

Blade turned his head. "Which one are you talking about?"


End file.
